A Touch of Marla
by alexz1jude
Summary: Marla wakes up satisfied in Tyler Durden's bed, but the Narrator ruins that.


This takes place after the Narrator's dream of sex with Marla, and includes when Marla talks to the Narrator in the kitchen afterwards.

* * *

Marla wakes up naked in a bed that's not hers. She's not exactly surprised. She's also not surprised to find that she's alone in the bed. After all, no one sleeps quite as late as she does.

The sun streams through the window, illuminating the mold growing on the walls. Tyler's house is a shithole, but she's been in worse places before. At least he has a house.

Eight weeks ago, when she agrees to Tyler's silly suggestion of splitting up the support groups, she never intends to listen. She's not one to play by the rules. Tell her not to steal, and the very next minute she'll be stealing clothes out of laundromats and selling them for money.

The first forbidden group she goes to is Tyler's precious testicular cancer one. No one could be as surprised as she is when she finds she actually misses seeing Tyler. She thought she was over men, completely self-sufficient, because men have the habit of being jackasses, but apparently that isn't the case. After eight weeks of disappointments, she decides to call him…but first she takes way too much Xanax. The next thing she knows, she's waking up next to Tyler Durden in a strange place that smells like mildew, fully clothed and wrapped in a wool blanket, with Tyler lying right beside her.

It takes maybe five minutes before she's naked, her dress thrown on the dirty floor. Tyler's mouth and hands are everywhere all at once, the sensations building up something inside her, making her want to explode. Tyler Durden fucks like the world is ending. They're suspended in time when everything around them explodes, their orgasms building until they join the fiery world around them. What shocks her most is that he's not like most men, only concerned with themselves and not her. He takes his time to pleasure her, over and over again.

With a rare smile on her face, Marla rolls out of bed, finding her dress and her combat boots scattered on the floor. When she lifts the dress to her nose, it reeks, like she must after spending the night here. She doesn't care. She's happy for once and nothing can bring her down.

Her morning breath tries to, though. She attempts to get water from the bathroom, but the faucet is dry no matter which knob she turns. This place really is a shithole.

Her combat boots clunk as she walks down the stairs in search of Tyler. Who knows what could happen after the crazy night they had? She sees him in the kitchen when she's at the bottom of the stairs. He's reading a magazine while eating, so she decides to go to the sink first and get some water.

"You won't believe this dream I had last night," he says as she passes by him.

She continues on her way to the sink and replies, "Yeah? I can hardly believe anything about last night."

She grabs a mug and fills it up with water from the tap, glad something in this place works. She takes a sip and gargles the water at the back of her throat. Mid-gargle, she looks back at Tyler, sees the disbelief on his face, and nearly chokes when she lets out a laugh. She spits the water out into the sink before she chokes to death. Obviously, he can't believe what happened last night, either.

"What are you doing here?" Tyler asks from behind her.

That wipes the smile right off her face, his words crashing down on her mood, infecting her like a poison. She slowly turns around, holding the mug tight in her hand and resisting the urge to break something. Tyler's face is blank; he's not joking around.

"What?" she asks in disbelief.

"This is my house," Tyler says, his voice harsh. "What are you doing in my house?"

Marla can barely believe what she's hearing. She continues staring at him, the blank look on his face not disappearing. She may not have been expecting him to make her breakfast or shower her with love, but she expects him to at least remember what happened. He's the one who brought her here last night. _You've got to be fucking kidding me,_ she thinks to herself, nearly shouts at him. She decides that he doesn't deserve that thought, buries it down inside and instead lets a venomous "Fuck you" pass her lips before dropping the mug in the sink and hearing the satisfying clunk as it hits the bottom. She hopes it shatters so Tyler can never use it again and has to buy a new one. When she storms out of Tyler's shithole, she realizes her jacket is sitting on the counter inside. She considers leaving it, but it's her favorite, the only piece of clothing she had ever spent more than a couple dollars on, and would take too many stolen clothes to replace, so she goes back to get it. She half expects Tyler to say something to her, but she doesn't give him the chance.

She tells herself she will not cry as she walks from the middle of nowhere back to her apartment. He doesn't deserve her tears, and she will not give him the satisfaction of breaking her down to nothing. Just because she likes to live her life on the edge and chooses to spend her time at groups for the free coffee, doesn't mean anyone can treat her like shit. Now that she is not blinded by lust and hard to distinguish emotions, she can see clearly. Tyler Durden is like all other men: useless and disappointing. For a split second, she's ashamed she ever felt anything for him. She would be happy if she never saw him again. She is Marla fucking Singer and Tyler Durden is a fucking asshole.


End file.
